


Time and Tide Won't Wait for Us

by Brokuaka (laineymod)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Also sort of a clairvoyant Akaashi, Angst, I guess this could be Magical realism if you squint really hard (it's not), Loads of sads, M/M, Recluse Akaashi, Slow Burn, Terminal Bokuto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:36:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7885966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laineymod/pseuds/Brokuaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Time and Tide wait for no man" - St. Marher, 1225</p><p>Maybe in some universe, Akaashi could have been normal, and maybe there's a place in time where Bokuto lives long enough to meet him head on, and things would have gone differently. But maybe this is the hand they were meant to be dealt, and Akaashi knows that there's no way to change what the end has already claimed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time and Tide Won't Wait for Us

**Author's Note:**

> I finally managed to spit this story out after sleeping on it for so long. It's supposed to be pretty short, but I'll probably see as I go. Talk to me about it: @brokuaka on Tumblr (I'm a little nervous to see how this ends up)

Time moved differently under the sheets. The bed was warm and seemed almost deep enough for Akaashi to pretend he could disappear entirely. His vision was blurred, comfortable to the point where the soft patter of his fingers on the white sheets were the only things he could see.

It was the third day in a row that Akaashi had neglected to go to class, nerves too fried and too sensitive to manage to be outside. He could tell it was nearing dusk, from the soft lights, shining into the room, soft hues of purples and blues tinting the walls. It was almost time for his roommate to return, and although his body ached at the prospect of getting up, he sat up nevertheless, moving slowly to shake the lethargy out of his limbs.

His joints cracked as he stood, and he felt weak at the knees taking the first few steps out of the bedroom and towards the bathroom. The apartment was maintained as always, nothing different could be expected of Kenma, Akaashi thought. He had kept to his own room these past few days, had only seen glimpses of Kenma sitting at his bedside, often when he was tumbling through consciousness and sleep.

He’s gotten thinner, he notices, staring into the mirror, could tell that he’s gotten sharper at the edges, bones now defined through the paleness of his skin under the bathroom light. Akaashi felt a chill run through his bones at the feel of the cold tiles under the balls of his feet, making him wish he hadn’t left the warmth of his comforter, and in his reluctance, he finds himself quickly dousing himself under the hot water of the shower.

The monotony of the process quickly lets Akaashi slip into routine, scrubbing away all the remaining traces of sleep from his body. His thoughts begin to wander, and although Akaashi tries, all roads always lead to his slip up four days ago.

It was Monday when he was walking to his second class of the day. The afternoon sun was boring down on all the students on campus, and for a day as hot as this one, Akaashi had slowly worked up the courage to brave the day without his gloves on. He knew the risks, especially since everyone else would have been quick to show some skin at the prospect of basking under the first summer sun, but he had psyched himself up anyways, reluctantly leaving them in his bedside drawer. Kenma had smiled at him curiously upon leaving the house, surprised at seeing Akaashi do something so out of character, but he had taken it as a good sign.

It happened in an instant.

He was walking towards the entrance of the building when he must have let his guard down, and by the most minuscule of chances, he felt his hand scrape against skin. It was almost unnoticeable until he was suddenly doubled over, his stomach roiling in fear and disgust. He had turned around to look then, and found her right behind him crouched down in concern – and maybe she was speaking, but nothing made sense until she had touched him again, hand on his, gently reassuring. And then he could see it as it flashed by his eyes, a few weeks from now, bright orange and red licking at her skin while she writhed and her screams finally ceased.

It was that last image that had done him in, left him lying unconscious on the steps of the history department’s building, and that still made him quiver under the gushing water of the showerhead. He had never known her, never will, but in that moment he felt an urge to grab her hand once more and warn her of what was to come. 

Yet he didn’t. Because one thing he had learnt over time, was that there was no way to take back what death has already claimed. 

He woke up later that day, wrapped up in his white comforter, Kenma at his side. The girl was gone, but the feeling remained, buried deep in his stomach. He couldn’t explain what had happened to his roommate, wasn’t sure that the usual excuses would hold up, but was grateful that Kenma never asked. But now, hearing the soft noise of the front door open and close, he knew that the topic could not be entirely avoided and that he would have to explain himself somehow. 

Washing off the last of the soapy suds, he stepped out of the shower to dry himself hastily. Although it was almost summer, the thick walls of the student housing kept the building chilly, enough to keep Akaashi on his toes as he waded back into his room. He could tell that Kenma was in the kitchen, making himself something to drink before he sat for the evening.

Freshly dressed in a new pair of sweats, Akaashi works up the nerve to walk up to Kenma, who is sitting quietly on the living room couch, nursing a warm drink in his hands, folded in on himself, paying only slight attention to the muted movie playing on the screen in front of him. Sensing something different in the room, Kenma turns around only to find Akaashi taking soft strides towards the sofa. 

“Hey,” Kenma smiles softly, moving over to make more space for Akaashi. “Are you feeling any better today?” He knew Kenma was only masking his concern, one Akaashi had learnt to see in his eyes, although well hidden. It was through subtle gestures that Kenma usually expressed what he meant, and only the time built by two years of living together had allowed him to come to understand that.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Akaashi spoke, shifting closer to Kenma on the couch, knowing that the gesture would make him look believable, show that he is well-rested and relaxed enough to close the distance in between them, “definitely well enough to attend class tomorrow.” Akaashi grimaced, thinking of all the work he would have to do once he returned, knew that hiding from the world in the safety of his room would come back to punish him, consequences in tow. 

Knowing that Kenma probably didn’t believe him, could probably sense the tension in Akaashi’s tone, he motions to get up, pulling himself off the sofa, limbs still heavy. He notices Kenma’s almost empty cup as he begins to turn around, only to be pulled back by his roommate’s hand, latched on to his.

It was another reason Akaashi had been so comfortable around Kenma and had been so quick to adapt. The feeling that settled in Akaashi’s stomach upon Kenma’s first touch, that first awkward handshake when they met in the apartment two years ago, was a soft one, almost warm and intangible in his stomach, gentle and hesitant, lacking a violent flash in front of his eyes, and Akaashi could tell that Kenma had many happy years ahead of him. The feeling remained, months and months later, and now as Kenma’s hand grazed his, he could still feel the gentle ebb and flow of warmth in his stomach.

“Akaashi,” Kenma says, looking up at him, slowly chewing his lip. He then lets go, whipping his hand backwards almost as if he had been burnt, quickly realizing that he had made a mistake. His eyes were apologetic as he continued to speak, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Akaashi felt the guilt bubbling inside of him, wishing he could confide in Kenma, and tell him what was really wrong. He was tired and worn out from keeping such a secret to himself for so many years, tired to the point that he has already let go of the hope that someone would understand him, spare him the piteous glance that people reserved for patients and freaks. Maybe one day he’d tell Kenma. Maybe one day Kenma would believe him. But he knew that for now, he would have to lie like he always has.

“Positive, Kenma-san,” he spoke, already turning around and away from the living room.  
“Would you like some more tea?”

 

It’s one week later when Kenma walks into his room. Akaashi had slipped back into routine after his long absence, trying to compensate for the classes he missed, and just maybe trying to distract himself from his blunder near the history department. It was easier to forget than to deal with, but even he could tell that hiding from his problem would eventually hurt him. 

“Kuroo’s having a small gathering tonight”, he says, nervously fidgeting by the doorway “I know that you’re not feeling so great around people lately, but he asked me to bring you.” He meets Akaashi’s eyes, taking a seat in the corner of the room. “It’s only a couple of people. Konoha and Komi will be there, and Yaku said he’d try to drop by. Other than that are a few of Kuroo's close friends. They all already know,” He looks away, shrugging his shoulders, “about the mysophobia, I mean.”

Akaashi almost felt the need to cringe, seeing his lie slip so easily and earnestly off Kenma’s tongue. He remembers his freshman year of high school when most of the other kids began to notice his tendency to avoid touch, his fear of others, and his willingness to separate himself from the rest, all culminating in one simple question from the quiet girl living next door.

“It’s mysophobia, right?” he remembers, and in that moment amongst the resonating creaks of the swing she was sitting on, he discovered that it was easier to lie and to agree, since it seemed like someone else had found the solution for him. “I looked it up, it means you’re afraid of germs? Maybe you should consider getting treated, Akaashi.” He brushed her off, that time in the playground, but never denied her, never let her think that she was wrong. He had looked it up that night, stayed up for hours after he had feigned going to sleep, only to find that it was the perfect solution for what could not be explained, and for the cold treatment he objected people to in his presence. 

The next morning, he felt guilty, lying to people who might have been well meaning. But it hadn’t taken him long to become accustomed to it, soon growing and weaving the lie, doing anything to make it seem more believable. In some moments he would even begin to believe it himself, until one faulty encounter would lurch him back to his old self, and remind him why he so urgently insisted on forgetting.

In hindsight, he admits that this very ruse is what carried him for so long, what coddled and comforted him in many moments of duress. And most times, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, knowing that most others would have done the same to protect themselves. But it is only in moments like these, when Akaashi sees the concern and honesty in Kenma’s eyes that he truly does. 

“I can still cancel on him if you really don’t want to, and I can tell him how swamped you’ve been with work. Maybe we could even play a few reruns when you need a break,” his roommate insisted. Akaashi knew that if he refused to go, then so would Kenma, maybe too nervous to find himself surrounded by people that he barely knows, even if he knew he owed it to Kuroo. And knowing how much it would mean to Kenma, how could he refuse?

“I’ll be dressed in a minute.”

 

 

Even if he was nervous and fidgety, he should have known that it would be easier than he had anticipated. Almost everyone had arrived by now, and upon walking in he was met by many comfortable greetings from friends and acquaintances lazing around the premise of Kuroo’s shared apartment. He felt himself relax upon looking at the spotless state of the house, knowing from Kenma what sort of pigsty it usually is (especially during large gatherings), although having never visited. Knowing that the cleaning was probably intentional, his heart warmed at the thought that Kuroo and Kenma had planned this in the hopes that he would be at ease. 

He felt himself unwind despite himself, knowing that people who had good intentions, and his interest in mind surrounded him. 

He went to find Kuroo, his eyes quickly flitting to where a small blond head was nestled in the crook of his arm. Although Kenma denied it, Akaashi knew that Kuroo was the only person he felt safe with, the place where he felt the most comfortable.

(And maybe Akaashi denied it too, the thought that he could ever find someone to cherish him the way Kuroo held Kenma, and that he could find a safety in someone’s arms greater than the one he found alone, like Kenma did Kuroo) 

When dark eyes found his, Kuroo’s resounding “Hey!” echoed through the room, waving and gesturing for Akaashi to come into the kitchen where they currently stood. A few empty cups and small snacks lay neatly on the table, along with a few recently washed bowls. It looked as if Kuroo was halfway through laying food out when Kenma and Akaashi had come in. 

“I’m so glad you could make it, Akaashi! Kenma told me you were pretty busy, so I wasn’t really sure you’d show up,” he says, all the while beaming. It was an honest smile, unlike the mischievous grin he would usually sport. He wonders how much Kenma has told Kuroo about the past few days, and of a way to make it up for worrying them both.

“I’m happy to be here, Kuroo-san,” he starts “it’s been a while since I’ve seen the others and thought it would be nice for a change.” He picks at the gloves he’d quickly grabbed before leaving the house, trying to decide how to go about what he wanted to say. Before Kuroo could interject he continued, looking at the both of them “Thank you, for this, I mean. You didn’t have to, but it was very thoughtful of you to do this for me tonight”. He looks away for a second, bashfully, looking back to find a smiling Kenma and a kind of flustered Kuroo, his eyes lighting up in understanding.

“No way, it was really no big deal, ‘Kaashi. We just, we really want you to feel comfortable.” Kuroo utters, scratching the back of his neck hesitantly. He suddenly freezes, noticing how awkward he must look, quickly slipping back into his practiced, sly smile. “Bo did most of the work anyways, so don’t you worry about it one bit.”

Kenma clicks his tongue, pulling away from Kuroo to continue with the setting up of the different food, and Akaashi snickers quietly at the childish frown Kuroo tries to make. It almost feels easy, comfortable, to be caught up in their pace. As the pair slipped back into the conversation they’d been having earlier, Akaashi turns around to leave the room, but only after Kenma refuses any of his offers to help. 

“Akaashi, some pizza is supposed to arrive any minute with Kuroo’s roommate, but if you don’t feel comfortable with that, you can have any of the food you’d like from Kuroo’s fridge,” Kenma speaks out. “That is, if you find anything edible inside of it.” 

“Thanks, Kenma-san,” He speaks out over Kuroo’s cackles, walking out of the kitchen, before hearing one last “You know, I’m glad you’re comfortable enough to make that kind of offer in my kitchen, pudding head”.

As Akaashi paces back in, he notices that the room looks slightly fuller than it had before, but nowhere near crowded enough to become a danger to him. His eyes flit to the couch, where he could see Komi and Konoha laying, watching the TV intensely as a few people seated on the carpet were playing a video game. Yaku smiles and waves from the corner he occupies with a few of the new freshmen and motions for him to come over, when a loud banging could be heard from the front door near him.

Thoughtlessly, he heads to the entrance, knowing that it would be the promised food, wanting to help out in one way or another. He swings the ratty door open, metal faintly cold against the fabric of his white gloves, only to find a stack of pizza boxes almost concealing the very overwhelmed looking person behind them. 

“Ah, hand me some of those,” Akaashi offers, swiping a few of the top boxes with no hesitation. Once half the boxes were firmly in his grasp, he looks back and is greeted by a blindingly wide smile, plastered on the face of a man looking old enough to be one or two years his senior. The man’s bright eyes find his, and only then does Akaashi notice his hair, dyed a light grey in the exception of a few black locks, messily ruffled across his forehead.

“Thanks,” the man beams, “I just need to put these in the kitchen.” He follows the man inside, the noise of the party throbbing faintly in the background as he focuses on not dropping the warm boxes he held. Inside the kitchen, Kenma and Kuroo were close to wrapping up, putting in place the last few things before the boxes found their way onto the counter safely.

It is in the moments that follow that Akaashi remembers why it is so hard, why it has always been so difficult for him to live normally, to embrace moments like these. He stands tall to reach a few plates from the cupboard above him; his back turned to the other three. A hand lands firmly on the firmly on the back of his neck, accompanied by a distant exclamation of “Thanks, man!” that he couldn’t hear anymore over the abrupt resonance of palm against nape, skin against skin, and he suddenly feels so very far away when his stomach begins to sink. He feels faint when he turns around with a polite smile plastered on his face. The pain has begun to spread within him, almost like poison, and god only knows how he kept it together long enough to hear the words: “Akaashi, this is Bokuto, my flatmate.”

Bokuto reaches out his hand to shake, oblivious of Kuroo and Kenma’s stares, and that is when he excuses himself, runs so quickly across the apartment to the small bathroom in Kuroo’s bedroom that he turns a few heads. 

Only when he is inside, supporting himself on either side of the small bathroom’s sink, that he does look up at himself in the mirror, sweaty, his vision a little blurry at the edges, that he realizes what the feeling inside of him is spelling out, what all the agony he feels is telling him: 

Three months.


End file.
